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Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

Lyrasis Members and Sloan Foundation 

The Gleaner 

Delaware Valley College 

Stanley W. Mucha, Jr. 
Executive Editor 

Pedrito Fischer Jeannine Trubac 

Graphics Editor Text Editor 

Dr. Alice J. Clark Dr. Jane H. Antheil 

Adviser and Editor Publication Adviser 

Special thanks to: 

Brenda Brown 

David Dartley 

Patricia Hillanbrand 

Dr. Richard C. Ziemer 

and all who contributed this vear. 

The Gleaner is published during the academic year by Delaware Valley College. The Gleaner is a student 
publication and the opinions expressed within are not necessarily those of the Gleaner staff or the adrninistration. 
Neither the college nor the staff will assume responsibility for plagiansm unknowingly occurring within. Many 
thanks to all who supported this publication. 


Cover Artwork: 
Daniel McFarlane 

Graphic Artists: 

Wayne Buehler 

Samantha Cichocki 

Heidi Miller 

Melissa Miller 

Joe Morrissey 

Lora Watkins 

Literary Artists: 
Gail Robynne Blum Samantha Cichocki 

David Dartley Christina Faust 

Robert Frank Elise Glazer 

Deborah Glicklich Rachel Howe 

Heather Krell Melissa Miller 

Stanley W. Mucha, Jr. Shannon Murphy 

Jenn Orlowsky Susan Pachuta 

Dawn Robison Stephanie Sawtelle 

Dr. Joseph P. Stenson J. D. Trubac 

Dr. Richard C. Ziemer 


.f3a3iS(g nwi^wiMM 

'Our Lives are like Cycles, Passing from one Season into Another" 



By J.D. Trubac 

One day, I will be able to go into the back yard 
Where once as a child I'd played- 
Innocent & pure. 

& one day I'll be able to find where the ground's all sunk in 

& that's where I'll discover the X 

I marked so long ago. 

I'll brush away all the dead leaves 

That have littered the place, 

& I'll roll up my sleeves... 

& dig, & dig. 

Letting the dirt under my nails. 

I'll scratch & pick with my bare hands, 

& one day soon, I'll find 

The anger I buried there so long ago... 

[The staff would like to apologize for the misprinting of this poem in last year's edition.] 



An Artist's Trouble 

By Stephanie Sawlelle 

The Prisoners inside me stretch shrunken arms through my ribs 

The way parched sunflowers crane their withered stems to beg rain from pregnant clouds, 

And their yellowed nails rasp my flesh and twist it through the spaces in my bones 

As torture for a lifetime of per\'erse confinement diseased more by suppression. 

Their heavy murmuring is a cluttered attic of unintelligible whispers, 

Echoing like waves in a sea shell. 

That waits to flood my paper in a symphony of illuminated notes 

As lightning unveils colors under a midnight tempest. 

But I keep them slaves to the endless chanting of mortal rhythms, 

A swelling ocean locked behind the floodgates of sound and ink, 

Because their voices carry the unfamiliar accents of an alien language 

Whose expression is as nameless as the emotions in a whale's song, 

And because the vivid fabrics and textures of their spirits are improper 

Against the pale skies of this naive world. 3 

By Stanley W. Mucha, Jr. 

Simplicity! Simplicity!^ 
Such a beacon for our lives 
The situations in the world 
Are too confusing at times. 

We can't go out into the woods 
And build a cabin like Thoreau 
But keep a Walden in our heads 
When angry winds do blow 

Buttress that wall, support the roof, 
Allow no beam to break 
Survive the world, within your mind. 
Like that Cabin by the Lake 

The pond was a mirror to look upon, 
A reflection of the soul; 
Look deep, and quite honestly now. 
To determine your Life's role 

But most of all define your stand 

Defend it to the utmost. 

Let no one dissuade you, under any demand. 

To destroy the principles you follow 

So if the world forces a retreat, 
And tough demands on you it makes. 
Transform your mind, secure inside. 
That Cabin by the Lake. 

(An unworthy ode to a great writer and philosopher.) 
'The actual wording was "Simplify! Simplify! Simplify!' 

By Joseph P. Stenson 

Well I've been bad and I've been good, 

But there was somethin' missin' from my childhood: 

Photo-SIN-thesis, Photo-SIN-thesis! 

I was just never told; I never got the news 

'Bout the light and the dark and the enzymes to choose. 

My mind went limp, then my mind went wild 
It was spinnin' round like a CONfused child. 
I did all I could to put my mind at ease... 
I just started countin' them ATP5. 

I sighted-a -chrome and a ferrodoxin, too, 

And the Chlorophyll sucked up a photon or two. 

Phosphorylation, Phosphorylation! 

Then the flavin got the plastoquinones, 

And a terrible feelin' shot through my bones. 

My mind went limp, then my mind went wild. 
It was spinnin' 'round like a CONfused child. 
I did all I could to put my mind at ease... 
I just started countin' them ATP5. 

Then all of a sudden the lights went out, 
and the kinase and dismutase began to shout, 
"On the dark side, on the dark side!" 
I xylosed my erythrose and gave out a cry, 
"This ain't the way to make glucose by." 


My mind went limp, then my mind went wild. 
It was spinnin' 'round like a CONfused child. 
I did all I could to put my mind at ease... 
I just started countin' them ATPs. 

How can those leaves and cells understand 
That pathways don't interest a rock'n'roll band? 
Photo-SIN-thesis, Photo-SIN-thesis! 
I just got the news, and my blood runs cold. 

My mind went limp, then my mind went wild 
It was spinnin' 'round like a CONfused child. 
I did all I could to put my mind at ease... 
I just started countin' them ATP5. 

Strutting Through the Sprinkler Spray 
By J.D. Trubac 

Remember those sultry summer days? 

Running through the speckled sprinkler sprays. 

Silky, smooth, shining droplets 

Permeating the sticky stagnant air. 

So sweet those shrinking scattered days— 

Stiffly stuck in the folds of my mind. 

You and I shrieking shrill; 

& somehow, it seems strange to me, 

That those two silly girls in spray 

Are the same two women we know today. 

You & I shrieking shrill— 

You & I best friends, still: 

Strutting through the sprinkler spray... 

Will You Dance With Me 

By Stephanie Sawtelle 

Inside the spinning room 

The darkness reels around points of light 

Inside my head the music stirs 

And through the sound we turn our circles, 

Etching spherical patterns 

On a round, marble floor. 

Outside the spinning room 

The darkness lies stagnant, devouring itself. 

Outside my head the silence crushes 

And in the black corners we stumble, 

Cutting deep scars 

Into the rotting wood floor. 

Inside the spinning room, 

I remind you, 

The dance is easy, 

But outside the spinning room, 

Reaching, I ask you. 

Will you dance with me? 

Perfect Picture 

By Shannon Murphy 

Sitting on a hill looking below, I feel separated from this other world. A sense of 
peacefulness envelopes me. This magical place before me is like a picture coming alive, 
too perfect to be real. The peace is only momentarily disrupted when the whistle blows 
and a train speedily rattles by, this place is a sad reminder of Willow Wood Farm. My 
favorite place in the world. An inspiration for my poetry. The place I first realized my 
passion for horses. A place I'll never see again. For me, it is gone forever, now just a 
memory. The tree-lined background with all its glorious color is perfect to set off what is 
before it. The red bam, next to it, tall silver silos gleaming in the sun's light. A field of 
green with spots of black and white, the Holsteins grazing lazily in the warmth of the 
morning sun. The large field and the beige bam seem close enough to touch. With 
horses galloping, bucking, playing and then grazing in the plush, green, pastures. This 
picture is completed by the frame of tall trees full with their leaves of autumn color. The 
winding road gives me the feeling that I can walk into and be a part of this perfect 


Autumn, ^^ 

A Vig-nette 

By J.D. Tnibac 

The air was cold. When you gripped my hand I felt a wamith rush all throughout my 
body. The cool wind seemed to conquer all and take hold of our feeble lives. You 
spoke, and when you spoke it was hard to hear you because the wind seemed to steal your 
words as soon as they left your mouth. The rustle of the brown leaves was all the sound 
that nature would permit; and unlike you I was willing to comply with her demands. 

I felt the need to absorb all the phenomena that surrounded us, but you were too 
concerned with making your own demands. Absorbed into your own mystic world, you 
expected the earth and wind to stop at your command so you might speak of your lofty 
ideals and show your cold heart to me. You competed with the sounds of autumn itself. 
You demanded the attention that I spent on it. You could not wait until we returned into a 
world of stuffy heated rooms and muted sound. No, you spoke now and I refused to hear. 

By Deborah Glicklich 

I thought I was invincible. 

I thought my heart and soul were well protected. 

I thought wrong. 

Now I know different. 

I met you- I liked you, 

but our signals got crossed and we went our separate ways. 

You got past my shield. 

You invaded my soul and stole my heart away. 

Now you're gone, but the memory of you lives on 

Haunting me like a ghost. 

I thought I could get over you. 

I thought wrong. 

By Christina Faust 


It's a sensation 

difficult to explain. 


in a dark forest. 

A dark forest called life 

filled with pitfalls 

and unexplainable dangers 

lurking around each turn 

behind each tree 

and beneath every rock 

It's a forest you can't escape 

But do not fear 

For it is possible 

to be 


In An Autumn Day 

By Stanley W. Mucha, Jr. 

The leaves fall down 

on the dying grass below. 
The squirrel buries its store 

in a newly-dug hole. 
The geese trek south 

for a winter's stay. 
The commotion contained 

in an autumn day. . . 


Autumn Romance 
By J. Orlowsky 

Colored leaves above my head fall to the ground like splattered paint, 

yellow, orange, brown and red. 

Many shades, patterns and shapes, 

Each with its own identity. 

As we walk holding hands. 

We can see our breath in the cool autumn air. 

While a glow fills the entire earth. 

As we wrestle in a bed of leaves, 

Nothing could replace our happiness. 

The sun is setting and darkness approaches. 

I love my Autumn Romance. 

Her Side-Through My Eyes (1983): 

By Susan Pachuta 

What happened to the years that make my life? 
I don't recall a wish for this to be. 
So certain I would be a wife- 
Can I be left to face just being me? 

No one can know what underlies mv heart! 
By keeping them away, I will survive. 
I have believed this strongly from the start- 
Can I now dare to see it's been a lie? 

I hold a tearful feeling all is lost. 
What's left to salvage from the death one makes? 
How many future bridges must be crossed 
Before I can forgive my own mistakes? 

New happiness I must allow to be— 
Convince me! Help me to find it within me. 


The Lord of the Leaves 

By Gail Robynne Blum 

The Lord of the Leaves is marching, through the towns and cities, 

Across deserted roadways and barren fields. 

Such dignity to be, 

The Lord. ..the Lord of the Leaves. 

Where color and kingdom never cease. 

And nature dances in harmony, 

And lives in peace, 

With the Lord of the Leaves, no tricks are to be played, 

Just live for his limbs of birth 

And gratefulness for his place on earth. 

Make way, for here he comes, 

Guided by the roughened hands of a northern breeze. 

Make way, make way, 

Onward marches the Lord of the Leaves. 


A Winter Day 
By J. Orlowsky 

The snow falls and covers the last patch of grass, 

The snow-capped mountains can be seen in the distance 

And the sun reflects the ice on the bare tree limbs. 

A jack rabbit bounds through the sage in his white, winter coat, 

While a child builds a snowman. 

The snow ceases, and the sky darkens. 

Another winter day is gone. 


The Old 

By Robert Frank 

Some walk the streets, 

Some sit at home, 

They all dream of not growing old. 

But they are old, 

And they dream yet again, 

To be young. 

They think of when they ran, 

And jumped a rope. 

Their first date, 

And their first love. 

A tear comes to their eye, 

They are gone. 



By Stephanie Sawtelle 

Sophisticated sins 
poured from a bottle. ^ 
The acid scarred my feet 
I did it just 

Never Say Forever 

By Melissa Miller 

Never say "forever" because you know it isn't real 
It isn't something lasting, it's what you think you feel 
If you mean forever, just tell me that you'll try 
But never say forever because "forever" makes me cry 


The Ballad of the Snow Angel 

By J.D. Trubac 

When I was a child 

I thought the snow was a gift from heaven. 
Soft & white; 
It gave me freedom & joy- 
Made everything clean and cool. 
Transforming my world into a place 
Where no one existed except me & You, 
& I could be whomever I wanted. 
Sometimes I thought 

I could forever hide behind that curtain of snow; 
& never be found. 
It didn't matter to me 
That my fingers were frozen & raw, 
My blue jeans stiff as slate, 
Or my scarf damp with my breath; 
Because the snow seduced me. 
She clung to my long eyelashes, 
& deadened all sound. 
You & I could play, and screech- 
Making angels all morning. 
I wished it would never stop snowing. 

But by mid-afternoon. 

The sun rose above the clouds in triumph, 

& shone its bright angry rays over 

Our white world of pristine innocence. 

& our angels turned muddy in the sun, 

& the drifts we waded through in the morning 

Became slushy mounds surrounded by mud. 

I wished it would never stop snowing. 



Now as I sit and write these lines, 

The snow falls in its pristine white splendor. 

Perfect geometric shapes that dance in the sky. 

The whole worid is white right now... 

But there is no moment of supreme cleanliness, 

Nor are the flakes of snow from heaven. 

I cannot escape 

Into that world of snow where 

You & I once played. 

It is no longer the same-- 

I wish it never stopped snowing.... 

A Helping Hand 
By Elise Glazer 

The clouds and rain are so dark, 
that no light is shining through. 
Just grab my hand and hold on tight 
so we can make it through! 



The Fountain of Life 

By Samantha Cichocki 

Where is the truth in the mountains, 
and where lies the truth in the song? 
Where doth love grow in a fountain, 
and where does life tarry along? 
I search for the truth in the mountains. 
I search for the truth in the song. 
But I found love in a fountain, 
and truth tarries along. 


Romeo & Juliet 

By Rachel Howe 

You're the forbidden fruit 

The fruit that always tastes so sweet 

You are the only one 

Who understands, 

You set mc free. 

The ones who forbid you 

Who are they to me? 

They say that blood runs thicker than water 

and in some cases 

I'm sure it does 

But the question I ask: 

Is blood thicker than Love? 

The Wind 

By Heather Krell 

The wind is passing by. 

Past the children, past the kites. 

The wind is passing by. 

Through the trees, past the trees and the children are sad 

Because the wind has gone. 


By Richard C. Ziemer 

W hen I wast- 

H irty-one I read a nast- 

Y statistic that said, "the 


M ean age of all Ph.D.'s in th 
E country is 31." 


Was I impressed 
With myself! 

By Christina Faust 



is not a THING 
it cannot be 
Nor can it be 
or sold 
or held 
or touched 
or given on a whim 
Love is natural 
and is not made 
but comes 
through care 
and understanding 

and honesty 
for one another 
and for life 
Love is special 
and requires 

Love cannot be given 
if it is not returned 
Love that's real 
is hard to find 
but I am fortunate 
for I found you. 



By Joseph P. Stenson 

Corn Popper for the Campus, 
Soup Heater, Boiler of Water, 
Warmer of Casseroles and the Office's Food 

Humming, blinking, beeping, 
Box of the Lx)ng Wavelengths: 

They tell me you are gone and I believe them, for I have seen 
you carried off by Weber beneath the fluorescent lights 
your space now empty. 
And they tell me you are pov/erful and I answer: Yes, it is true 

I have seen you cook and go on to cook again. 
And they tell me you are dangerous and my reply is: On the 

faces of students and once mates I have seen the look of 
relief when your klystron shuts off. 
And having answered so I turn once more to those who scoff 
at this way to cook, and I give them back their scoffing 
and say to them: 
Come and show me a quicker way to cook and reheat rice and 



Ringing magnetic rays inside a box piled high with food, here 

is a bold winner set vivid against milder ways of cooking. 
Fierce as a fire with tongues reaching and singeing, cunning 
as a campfire pitted against a roast. 

Warming, cooking, reheating. 
Amidst the pipe smoke, dust all over its keypad, blinking with 

monitor light. 
Under the terrible burden of destiny, cooking as a young oven 

Cooking even as a dumb stove oven cooks which has never 

ruined its food, 
Bragging and cooking as under its chassis is the pulse, and in 
its circuits the stomachs of the people. 
Cooking the insipid, vapid, toxic food of Youth, half baked, 

sweating, proud to be Com Popper, Soup Heater, Boiler 
of Water, Warmer of Casseroles and the Preparer of Food 
for the Office. 

with apologies to Carl Sandburg 



By Dawn Robison 

Grow damn it grow! 

You can't give anything 

until you grow! 

Let everything nourish you 

no matter 

be it beautiful, horrid, or lame 

absorb it! 


Don't fight it, 

Don't withdraw 

or repel. 

Grow straight up 

or twist 

toward the sky 

but grow! 

There's nothing left where you are 

except a void and selfishness. 

There is no one to blame 

but you 

when you shut yourself off 

from everything. 

Just open your sight, 

open your sound, 

open your thought, 

don't ignore the magnificence. 

Just grow! 

Even if it's not what 

you want to grow into 

because a vibrant weed is better 

than a wilted flower. 

Touch the sun and bum 

but feel it, 

don't just imagine 


Please, grow. 

i >, 


■ if! 

i If /I i 


Lora Watkins 
"Daffodil and Tree" 


March 22, a.m. 

By David Dartley 

"Humble Bullfights" 

and poor Manolo's dream of becoming a famous bullfighter 

had been the topic of Spanish I so far. 

Then Mr. Reamer's startlingly loud voice over the P. A., 
making not a happily heard request. 
"Oh, well then that's a family emergency. Hurry up." 
The Seiiora said, which was no more happily heard. 

Downstairs, into that little office, 

where he was on the phone, the Family Problem Lady at the ready. 

"Hi," she said, with this concerned look on her face as if 

she were any less clueless than I was. 

"Okay," he said, "A police officer is coming to pick you up. 

Your mother is all right. We know that." 

"What's the matter?" I said. "Do you know what this is about?" 

"No, but your mother is all right." 

Back and forth. 



Up Franklin Avenue in the cop car, 

I whistled or hummed or mumbled along or some crap like that 

with the songs being played on the radio. 

Yeah, man, I was cool, I was all together. 

Up the stairs to my deck, 

to the glass door to my kitchen, 

Where I could see my mother sitting there looking ridiculous, 

in some blue sweat suit, her face all contorted and tearful, 

with Officer Bob Hirsch's hand on her shoulder. 

Reaching the door, I knew what this looked like. 

I understood how evil my thoughts were as I negotiated 

which of the two situations made obvious by the scene in front of me 

would be easier to deal with. 

"What's the matter?" 


Faces Eternal 

By Gail Robynne Blum 

Four in one. 

You kiss the sun. 

Four faces, so alike. 

Smile in the summer blue. 

Warm rock, 

Tea set for two. 

Green leaves from which liquid sunshine pours, 

Love this face forevermore. 

Oaken king, cascade your children 

From weathered boughs. 

Farmer, pack up the pick and the well-worn plow. 

Rise up yonder harvest to the whippoorwill's rhyme. 

Which flows through the air. 

To sweeten time. 

Blanketed earth in a forestry glare. 

Where spring's song doesn't dare 

To amble or roam. 

Bare branches are left to sway 

Without their green companions. 

Throughout the lonely day. 

Then, flowers break free from their cold confines. 
See once again the rebirth of time. 

Four faces each so different. 

Four faces that I don't mind. 
Four faces that capture the eternal essence of time.